His One Unforgivable Sin
by DramioneInLove
Summary: In a world where Muggle-borns are the "lower class", Hermione Granger works for Madam Malkin's as an apprentice. When pure-blood women who have bought dress robes from Madam Malkin's die mysteriously, Draco Malfoy starts the investigation, and Hermione is his first suspect. DramioneLove fest submission. Winner of Mod's Choice: Best Dystopian Universe Fic. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: His One Unforgivable Sin**  
><strong>Author: <strong>  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> #96 - A/U. In a world where Muggle-borns are the "lower class", Hermione Granger works for Madam Malkin's as an apprentice. When pure-blood women who have bought dress robes from Madam Malkin's die mysteriously, Draco Malfoy starts the investigation, and Hermione is his first suspect.  
><strong>Fic Word Count:<strong> ard. 12900.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17 (MA)  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Physical abuse, Explicit Sexual Situations - Dub-Con/Non-Con, Forced Orgasm, References to murder, Blood-purity prejudice, Strong Profanity, Unrequited love, Alternate Universe.  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>none  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In a world where Muggleborns are the lower class, Hermione Granger works for Madam Malkin's as an apprentice. When pure-blood women who have bought dress robes there are murdered, Draco Malfoy, Chief of Aurors and son of Minister, starts the investigation, and Hermione is his first suspect.  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> So this fic might just undergo a revision 2.0, but we'll see about that later. The end of the story might seem a tad abrupt, but in fact, I had the whole storyline planned out - then all of a sudden I had a lot to do and couldn't quite finish as I wanted. That's why the intended end of story is under the "spoilers", so don't read it before you've read the fic. As I said, could have done better but as it is, I deemed this good enough to be submitted, so please give me your advice. I thank **hpbeta** for her betaing help, and I loved this fest- next year I'll try to finish my fic as I want to!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

** EDIT. Thanks so much RZZMG for this fest and for betaeing each and every work on board, including this one- fantastic job! See you next year for the 2015 edition!**

**Author's Notes: after submitting this to the fest, it waited a moment in my computer. There will be a sequel to this, called Her One Unrelenting Memory. I do hope you'll like it.  
><strong>

**.XX.**

Draco Malfoy strolled up to the shop, his silver-lined, black cloak billowing out behind him, face carefully expressionless. He looked like a man on a mission ‒ and indeed, he was.

People walking in the street averted their gazes. No-one wanted to cross Lord Malfoy the younger, Chief of MLE, son of the terrible Lord Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic, and of the formidable Lady Narcissa. Word around was Draco was even more cunning, and more cold and murderous than his parents.

**.XX.**

_In the world of fear and murder that Abraxas Malfoy, the Minister before Lucius, had established, there was only one true law: pure-bloods were born to rule, half-bloods supported the pure-blood reich, and Muggle-borns... well, they were fit only to live and die in service to their masters._

It was true, however, that a few, select Mudbloods actually managed to scrape a living away from the streets, with the most intelligent of them able to find an apprenticeship and serve a half-blood boss, or to labour for a pure-blood house. They couldn't have their own businesses, of course, and they remained at the bottom of the social ladder, but they were paid a small salary and didn't have to beg for a living.

**.XX.**

Apparently, one man on the street didn't know the MLE's Department Chief by sight, much to his misfortune. A beggar, wrapped in a thin blanket, struck out when Draco marched past him, and seized the blond man's wrist. "Please, sir, charity," he moaned. "Please, I'm hungry, sir."

Lord Malfoy whipped around, disgust painted across his handsome features as he stared the man down. In the next second, his wand tip was pushed into the beggar's throat.

"Do you know who I am, fool?" growled Malfoy. "Do you know what torture awaits those Mudbloods stupid enough to even dare to breathe the same air as a pure-blood ‒ _mine_most of all?"

The man yelped and let go of Malfoy's wrist as if he had burnt himself. He whimpered. "I'm...I'm sorry sir! Please, I wanted only‒"

"To plead is a sign of weakness," replied Malfoy with a cold snarl as he released the beggar. "In our society, only the _strong _are fit to survive. Too bad you'll learn that lesson the hard way. _Avada Kedavra!_"

The beggar froze in a flash of green light, and slumped to the ground. Dead.

Lord Malfoy sheathed his wand in its holster and continued along his route, unmoved by his murder. If any spectators were appalled by his killing a man in the street, they quickly looked away when he turned his gaze on them. No-one would admit they'd seen him kill, if asked about it later. It was the way of things.

**.XX.**

_Lucius Malfoy was a corrupt Minister._

He'd married a corrupt wife, who had herself birthed and raised a corrupt son.

It was a proud tradition.

**.XX.**

Only seconds after killing the poor fool who had dared speak to him ‒ worse, touch him (damn, now he would have to burn those cuffs to rid his perfect, pure-blood self of those ugly Mudblood germs... a pity, as he'd liked those cuffs), Draco brushed off the incident and continued on his way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Madam Malkin was a short, plump, respectable half-blood witch who had received from Abraxas years ago the right to start her own business. Half-bloods who wished to do so had to have a special license signed by the Minister. It was the most luxurious apparel shop in Diagon Alley, and the most expensive clothier in England. Draco, as well as several other pure-bloods he knew, were tailored in this place. Thus Draco Malfoy knew well the proprietor and the shop's irreproachable reputation ‒ which is why he was going himself to see Madam Malkin, as the day's matter was very serious indeed.

A soft bell tingled above the door as Draco stepped into the shop. Keeping his gloves on, he waited patiently as Madam Malkin bustled out of the shop's storehouse, her pretty round face white with shock.

"Lord Malfoy, Milord," she curtsied. "Thank Merlin you are here! Oh, it is terrible, Milord...such a nice girl too...and one of my best customers."

Draco tipped his head slightly in respect, and said, "I will have to ask you a few questions, Madam. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Milord. If you will."

He followed the hurried, plump woman to the little room next to the main room, where a table, three chairs, and a coffee pot awaited them. Malkin served them, then sat across the table, looking worried.

"Now," Draco began, a quill and parchment magically appearing in his hands. "I must know what happened, exactly."

"Well," Madam Malkin replied, "yesterday, Daphne Greengrass was our last customer of the day. We stayed a little over the closing hour to serve her, as she was trying on a new dress she needed for Miss Parkinson's engagement ball next week. We talked a bit, and I served her some cognac and biscuits. You know how I do such things."

Draco nodded silently, jotting down notes.

"So, at half past seven, Miss Greengrass left. I closed the shop with Hermione's help, and at eight o'clock, I let my helper go as well. At eight-fifteen, I locked up and left and...and...and that's when I found Miss Greengrass in the shop's back yard!"

"She was dead?" Draco inquired.

Madam Malkin, chin wobbling, nodded. "Y-yes. Her body had been flung behind the bins and...she had been stabbed...through the heart. That's all I know."

Draco sighed and thought about it. Daphne had been a good friend of his. Worse, she was Astoria's older sister, and Astoria would be his wife in three months time. With Daphne's murder, however, they would probably not marry for another year or so ‒ not that Draco minded the delay, as their marriage was one of convenience. Still, he realised that he would have to comfort his fiancée through this heartbreaking ordeal.

Madam Malkin had called the Aurors the prior evening. He hadn't been told. Thus, when Malfoy had entered his office that morning at seven, the news had hit him hard. He had notified his father straight away, then had marched off to question the upset shopkeeper.

"You spoke of a 'Hermione'?". He hesitated on the name. It sounded old-fashioned.

"Oh, yes! Hermione Granger. She's my apprentice ‒ a Mudblood, but Merlin bless, she is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. Clever and crafty, too. She came at six of the clock, as usual, to clean up and ready the shop for the opening hour at seven."

Malfoy's brain whirled. He'd never seen this girl, despite coming often to Madam Malkin's. Shopkeepers did not put their Mudblood apprentices under their customer's noses, though, so as to not offend them, so perhaps that was why.

Draco _hated_ Mudbloods.

"Does this girl leave by the front door of the shop, or by the yard in the back?"

Madam Malkin served them another cup of tea. "By the yard, of course. When we close up, we lock the front door, so both of us leave by the back."

"And Daphne, which exit did she use?"

"The front."

"I see. Did you, at any point, hear anything unusual?"

Madam Malkin scrunched her face as she turned inward, deep in thought. "Now that I think of it...Daphne had said that she would be waiting for a friend outside later. And at one point, I did hear two women shouting back there. But that may have been the neighbours, too. They're always loud in their bickering."

"Right, now I realise that you might be slightly...fond... of your Mudblood," Draco said this with disgust, "like one would be of a pet, I'm sure, but do you at all believe it possible that Mudblood Granger could have committed this crime?"

"Hermione murdered Miss Greengrass?!"

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"No, I don't believe so," Madam Malkin firmly replied. "You see, Hermione has no like for Pures, true, but she is also one of the softest, nicest people I've ever met. She truly believes that everyone deserves a chance. She'd not be able to kill anyone, nor hurt them for that matter. She abhors violence."

Draco bit back his anger. The woman actually spoke of her apprentice as she would of a true human being! "Madam Malkin," he tried again, conciliatory, "you have just certified that your Mudblood has made her dislike of pure-bloods known to you. You further testified that she left only a bit after Miss Greengrass, who was waiting outside for a friend, and that you'd heard shouting from the same location. You claimed that you left soon after that, and that was when you'd found Miss Greengrass' still warm body in your yard ‒ the very path your Mudblood Granger took upon leaving your establishment. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Madam Malkin's jaw went slack, and her eyes opened wide. "No...no! Hermione wouldn't...couldn't!"

"You would not be the first, nor the last well-meaning person to adopt a traitorous Mudblood apprentice," Draco replied. "Some Mudbloods have a gift, you see: they manage to utterly blind people to their faults, like having sand thrown in one's eyes. Clearly, your Mudblood tricked you into believing that she was as sweet as a lamb and as soft as a spring breeze, but all along, she was hiding a terrible monster under her filthy skin."

"I still don't think that Hermione would have done something like that," Madam Malkin boldly countered his rendition. "I'm sorry, Milord, but I don't."

Draco flashed the woman a tight, humourless smile. "We'll see, won't we?"

**.XX.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the new chapter. Enjoy!**

**.XX.**

The first thing Draco saw when Madam Malkin led him into the small break room in the back of the shop was a massive riot of dark chestnut curls.

Said curls seemed even more puffy as they were set upon a very slim body dressed in a plain, grey dress – the usual attire for Mudbloods.

The girl had her back turned to them, and was sweeping the floor with a broom. Though allowed to use magic, Mudbloods often didn't, as it was frowned upon by pure-bloods. Many a Muggle-born over the years had received the business end of a curse for flaunting their abilities.

Madam Malkin's assistant heard them enter. Her voice rang out, loud and clear, "I'm finishing up, Madam! I'll be done in a tick!"

"Hermione, dear, would you be so kind as to put the broom down?" Madam Malkin requested. "Someone is here to speak with you."

The girl propped her broom against the wall and turned, wiping her hands on her grey skirt. She spotted Draco... and her eyes widened in terror. She obviously knew who he was, and that his presence was not good news for her.

Hermione Granger had a pretty, heart-shaped face, Draco noted, with pale, flawless skin and a nice creamy complexion. A button nose was set under two large amber eyes with uncommonly long lashes, and she had a small, bow-tipped mouth that was dainty and naturally tinted red. She was petite all around, though healthier than most Mudbloods. All-in-all, she was a very pretty girl – not an exotic beauty, but she was lovely enough for a man to want to relieve some sexual tension with her.

Draco refused to be affected. She was a Mudblood, probably a criminal, too, and the victim had been his future sister-in-law.

He narrowed his eyes at her in disgust, and was shocked when she threw back at him a look filled with loathing. How _dare_ she? Why the little... "I'll see her alone," he declared.

Granger nibbled on her lip, worried.

Draco pointed towards the back door in silent edict, and she followed his direction with resigned steps. He slammed the door behind him, but the wild-haired girl didn't jump as he'd expected. He snarled at her instead, wanting her frightened. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, leaning back against the door to prevent her escape.

"I do," she replied, crossing her arms across her chest, refusing to be cowed. "You're the son of the current Minister."

Draco's lips pulled back from his teeth. The chit had nerve talking back to him without bowing and cowering in fear! Rather, she seemed... annoyed.

"In that case," he snapped, "why you aren't showing me the proper respect?"

"When have I refused to show you respect, Mr. Malfoy? I believe I have not insulted or injured you."

Draco wanted to cuff her face and knock her around for such impertinence. He'd killed for less.

"Perhaps you mean my refusal to cower in front of you," she sneered. "Well, let me tell you this, Mr. Malfoy: I've heard all the stories about you, and they say you're dangerous. That may be true, but you don't intimidate me."

The slap he delivered to her cheek gave a loud 'crack', but the Mudblood didn't stop glaring at him, even when her cheek turned bright red.

"You little bitch," he snarled. "How dare you! You're lucky you're a woman, or I'd disembowel you where you stood! However, that won't stop your execution at the hands of the courts when I frame you for the murder of Daphne Greengrass."

Her eyes widened and she gasped. "You mean...you think...I-I-I killed her? Never!"

"Let me replay the facts for you, Mudblood," he very coldly stated. "Miss Greengrass was murdered in the back yard of this shop last night at an hour when you could easily have done it, and the neighbours heard two _women_ shouting at each other before Miss Greengrass was stabbed. You have access to any number of sharp instruments in Madam Malkin's shop. And lastly, I am a personal witness to your hated of pure-bloods. You had motive, opportunity, and means. Now, tell me again you didn't commit this crime."

"I didn't," Granger insisted. She was pale now, and sat down on a chair, wringing her hands. "I didn't, sir, I swear! Miss Greengrass left at least a half-hour before me. I closed up the place with Madam. Ask her! I left without seeing anything amiss, but I did hear shouting..._and_ laughter at one point. I didn't do this horrible thing, sir! I wouldn't be able to kill anyone!"

Draco looked at the distraught woman and gritted his teeth. His instincts were telling him she was telling the truth, but he refused to acknowledge them. "As if I, or the court, will care about your protestations of innocence," he said. "You're a Mudblood, and that'll suffice to hang you."

"Maybe," she retorted, angry, "but the real murderer will still be on the loose. Instead of trying to frame innocent people, why don't you go find and arrest the true killer?"

Draco's rage snapped free. In a beat, he had a hand around her dainty neck and began to slowly strangle her. She gasped for breath and he smiled. "Do not tell me how to do my job, you fucking, worthless Mudblood," he hissed in her face.

"Malfoy, let her go!"

Two men appeared at the back door. Startled by the rescue party, Draco let go of the girl and spun to face the intruders.

A mop of red hair, a gross display of freckles splattered across pale skin, two baby blue eyes... It was Ronald Weasley, a pure-blood and known blood-traitor. The man had his wand trained upon Draco.

Stepping out from behind Weasley was Draco's oldest enemy, Harry Potter. Shorter and stockier than his pal, with jet-black hair and glittering emerald eyes framed behind a pair of round spectacles... and displaying _that scar_ on his forehead, Potter was a force in his own right. Though he was only half-blood, as the only son of the popular pure-blood, James Potter, and his Muggle-born servant, Lily Evans, Harry was well-known for having defeated Voldemort, a dangerous madman who had tried to take over the Ministry for his own profit years earlier. As the wizarding world's "savior", Potter was now allowed to come and go as any pure-blood would, especially since his fiancée, Ginevra Weasley, was a pure-blood (and sister to the idiot standing at Potter's side).

"Well, well, well," Draco sneered. "If it isn't the Weasel and the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die. Saving the day again, Potter?"

"Language, Malfoy," spat Harry. "I know you're a no-good excuse for a wizard, but there are ladies here." He gestured to Hermione, who was rubbing her throat and inching away from Draco's reach.

Draco smirked. "Why am I not surprised, Potter? Your mother was a Mudblood herself. Is that why you care so much for their kind?"

"Shut it, ferret," growled Ron, wand still pointing at Draco.

"Beat it, the both of you," Draco barked. "I'm actually in the process of wresting a confession from Daphne Greengrass' murderer."

The two men's eyes widened with astonishment, then Ron howled with laughter. "Are you insane, Malfoy? This woman is as much as a murderer as the bloomin' Tooth Fairy. Ask around. You'll see."

"Not only that," added Harry, "she's also our friend and under our protection. So, let her go."

"Oh, goodie," Draco gleefully retorted. "Under your charge, you say, Potter? All these years, I've been waiting for a chance like this one to make you fall from your throne. This'll be quite neat. When your favorite Mudblood whore's convicted of murder of an eminent pure-blood witch, you'll go down in flames with her."

"Still the same, tired game, Malfoy? I best you, you conspire even harder to ruin me. Well, enough of that! Hermione is innocent in this case, and that's final!"

A murderous silence fell between Draco and his two childhood nemeses.

Hermione politely coughed, breaking the stalemate. "Harry, Ron, it's quite all right, I promise. I will explain to Mr. Malfoy here exactly what happened last evening, and then we'll be back to our business."

Her two friends' expressions were worried and doubtful, but they agreed to her request.

"We'll be next door, Hermione," Harry promised. "See you in a minute."

The door closed behind them.

Draco spun back to confront Granger. Potter and Weasley's interference complicated everything. If the girl was under the protection of the two, both war heroes, she would be far more difficult to bring low. He'd have to do things by the book, official and all that. "Your full name," he demanded, pulling out his notepad again.

"Hermione Jean Granger," the Mudblood answered.

"Date of birth."

They went through the formal procedures. It turned out the Mudblood didn't have much more to tell him than Madam Malkin had. Finally Draco turned to leave. "I'll be watching you very closely, Granger," he promised her, a hint of menace in his tone. "If ever you as much as step out of line, I will insure you'll never see the light of day again."

"Point made," she replied.

He gazed into her amber eyes. They were truly beautiful, like a swirl of honey and cinnamon...

He shook his head, and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

**.XX.**

**Did you like it? Tell me everything about it.**

**Read and review, please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**.XX.**

Draco kept his word. As soon as he left the shop, he Apparated to the Ministry and proceeded directly to his father's office.

Lucius was reading a report from one of the Aurors, and glanced up at him. "Hello, son."

"Father," Draco greeted his sire with a head bow.

He took a seat, and instantly, a house-elf appeared, bending its ugly head in deference and holding a tray with two glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky. Not in the mood, Draco slapped the creature across the nose and ordered, "Well, put it down, you ghastly slave!"

The elf whimpered in pain and obeyed before taking a step backwards.

Lucius gazed at his son a moment, then said to the creature, "Dobby, get out."

Dobby Apparated away.

Lucius set the Auror's report down and folded his hands in front of him on the desk, nodding for Draco to pour them both a glass. "Daphne's death – a sad tale. Most unfortunate. This situation, of course, shall delay your wedding Miss Greengrass. On a positive note, however, your soon-to-be wife is now the sole heir of her parent's fortune."

Draco shrugged, indifferent. "Indeed. But I'm more concerned with the political embarrassment to the Ministry, Father. Do you know the last pure-blood to be murdered was during Voldemort's bid for power? That doesn't reflect well on you. And despite the fact Astoria shall inherit her family's riches, I loathe the whole tedious mourning thing. You realise she's going to paw all over me to help forget her sister's death, don't you?"

"Do you have any leads at all in the chit's slaying?"

"Perhaps. I went to Madam Malkin's directly. The poor woman had little to tell. However, I strongly suspect her Mudblood apprentice to somehow be involved."

Lucius nodded his head, the political wheels turning in his head. "I see. Well, have her in court and assure her executed. End of story. Justice served and no more embarrassment."

"I can't do that."

Lucius raised an eyebrow in a strong, silent admonishment. "I _beg_ your pardon? Why ever not?"

"This Mudblood's name is Hermione Granger. She is–"

"–a war hero."

Draco blinked in astonishment. How did his father know someone of her low breeding?

"You know her?"

"Mudblood Granger is a war hero, Draco. Very few know of the role she occupied during the war against Voldemort, as Mudbloods are not held triumphant for any deed, whatsoever."

Lucius suddenly seemed worried, and his behaviour surprised Draco.

"I'll even go as far as to say that without her help, Potter and his sidekick, Weasley, would be dead ten-times over. She's extremely intelligent, and clearly knows her way with a wand. I was witness her fighting against Voldemort, himself, and she survived that encounter without so much as a scar to nurse. Granger is clever... and she is dangerous."

This knowledge put the whole murder inquiry into a new light, and jeopardised everything about it.

"But, Father," Draco countered, "since too few know the part Granger played during the war, no one shall stand up to support her–"

"Don't be silly," Lucius snapped. "Potter, Weasley, and the Longbottom family all know about her. Since they are all bloody Muggle-lovers, they will open their gobs in court and testify on her behalf."

Lucius downed his drink in one toss.

"Then again," he muttered, more to himself than to his son, "we cannot leave Miss Greengrass' case unsolved. It would be seen as incapability, incompetence – a failure. No, that won't do at all."

"I could find the real murderer," Draco offered.

"Don't go there," warned Lucius. "The Greengrass' had more than their share of enemies, and I don't want some other great family possibly brought low on charges of a revenge killing, Draco – if that's what this turns out to be. It could have been a crime of passion over money or sex just as easily. Whatever, we don't want to potentially ruin one of our own. No, the simplest answer would be to frame it on the Mudblood, Granger. But we cannot because of her connections as well! What to do, what to do..."

"Frame it on someone else?"

"It's an idea, yes, but who? Madam Malkin? The thought is laughable. I see no-one else, however. Oh, this complicates everything!"

They sat in silence a moment, nursing their drink, until Draco finally stood, an idea forming in his head. "Well, I can always follow Granger. Gather some dirt on her. Harass her until she says she's the killer. I'll take care of it."

Lucius agreed, and Draco left.

**.XX.**

As soon as the front door shut behind Lord Malfoy, Hermione sighed and gently probed her bruised throat. She shivered as she remembered the man throttling her.

She'd been lucky Harry and Ron had decided to visit her tonight, as rumour had it that Draco Malfoy made it his quota to kill a Mudblood per day – "to keep himself in shape".

The man's whole family was dangerous! They turned up their noses at half-bloods and looked down with hate upon Mudbloods.

**.XX.**

_Before the war, the Malfoys had ruled the Ministry._

During the war, as soon as Voldemort had risen from his cursed ashes, the Minister, his wife, and his only son had taken a long, convenient vacation.

After the madman's year-long reign had ended, they'd returned to England... and continued to rule as mercilessly as before.

**.XX.**

Ron and Harry barged in on her again, and immediately she was crushed in Ron's strong arms. He checked her over like a mother hen, seeking any tell-tale marks of abuse.

"I'm fine, boys," she said with a wan smile.

"You have finger-shaped bruises all around your neck," Ron pointed out. "I'd hardly call that 'being fine'. What did the bastard want?"

She winced at his language. "To frame Daphne Greengrass' murder on me, seeing as how I'm a 'Mudblood' and all."

"We'd heard and were coming by to see if we could offer any help," Harry added, twirling his wand in his nimble fingers. "With Malfoy being Chief of MLE _and_ a rabid Muggle-born-hater, we knew he'd pull this kind of stunt once he found out you worked here. It's easier to blame a Muggle-born than to search for the real culprit."

"Wouldn't he mind if the murderer killed again while chasing after me?"

"Of course he would, but then he'd just throw another innocent to the wolves. It's expected he use a scapegoat rather than admit to his constituents that Muggle-borns aren't _necessarily_ responsible for every, tiny offense in the world," Harry grimly replied. "Making an arrest would calm down Daphne's family for a while, and if he actually did find the murderer in the meantime, no-one would care about what happened to you. To all of them, you're 'just a Mudblood' – sorry for the language! The fact is: Malfoys love power and money, Hermione, and they don't care about anything or anyone else. In order to keep what they have, and accumulate more, they've corrupted themselves to the bone."

Hermione shivered. "He'll be back, you mean."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. But this time we'll have your back. You won't leave this place without at least one witness at your side, be it Ginny, Ron, myself, or any of our friends. We know you didn't kill Greengrass, but others don't... and they won't."

Ron pulled her close to him. He smelled nice, but Hermione still found his embrace awkward. "Hermione, I've already proposed to you," he reminded her. "If you became my fiancée, you would become as powerful as any half-blood in our society."

"No, I wouldn't, Ron. You'd be the 'blood-traitor' who married a 'Mudblood'," she replied. "That would put an end to your social career."

"I don't care–!"

"But I do. Ron, this world is a shark's waters. You need everything you've got just to stay alive, and your 'pure blood' is one of your advantages. Remember, what happened when James Potter married Lily Evans? He was made an outcast."

"That was over twenty years ago!"

"And society's opinion hasn't changed. I can't marry you, Ron. It would ruin you."

"But I love yo–"

"I know," she whispered, hugging him tightly, "but I can't love you the same way. I'll never be allowed." She let him go, wiped away her tears, and headed for the door. "I must go back to work, my gentle-wizards. If you'll excuse me."

She slipped out.

Ron sighed. Harry pursed his lips.

**.XX.**

**Please read and review, thank you.**

**DIL.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello and sorry for my lateness! Enjoy.**

**...**

The next day, Hermione left work at eight o'clock. She hadn't seen, nor heard from Draco Malfoy that day, and to be honest, that worried her.

She walked across the back yard, huddling under her long cape... and accidentally slipped upon a patch of ice and fell hard on her arse. Cursing, she took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes to calm her racing heart. Damn it, her bum and her thin, knit gloves were soaked through by the snow now!

With a sigh, she regained her composure and prepared to stand up...

A pair of legs clad in black men's trousers stood directly in front of her.

A glance upwards confirmed her worst fears: Draco Malfoy was looking stonily down upon her. She cursed again, mentally this time.

Of course, Malfoy didn't offer her a hand up. Instead, he sneered down his nose at her.

"A Mudblood's rightful place: kneeling at my feet."

Biting back a scathing retort due to her current position, Hermione carefully got up and dusted the ice off her backside. She glared at him, even as she acknowledged him. "Mr. Malfoy, to what do I owe the privilege?"

"Actually, I'm a Lord, referred to as 'Milord' by my inferiors. Then again, I would hardly expect someone like _you_ to understand the importance of social niceties, Mudblood."

"What do you want, Milord?" she spat.

He gritted his teeth, then gestured towards the bins behind which Daphne's warm corpse had been found. "Is that where you dumped my sister-in-law, Granger?"

Her eyes widened in shock at the blatant accusation. "What? I didn't dump anyone! I told you already that I didn't kill Daphne Greengrass. Please, _Milord_," she muttered crossly, "please leave me alone. I know nothing."

He looked at her with a serpentine, calculating gaze, before replying, "Potter and Weasley won't always be there to protect you, Granger."

"I know that," she admitted, "and they aren't actually protecting me, so leave them be! I don't need anyone to save me, because I haven't done anything wrong! Now, may I go?"

"No, you may not."

She growled. "What do you want now?"

"Speak nicely to me, or I'll hurt you."

"Are you menacing me, _Milord_?"

"I'm promising you, _Mudblood_. And I'm following you to your house tonight."

Her eyes widened with fear. "What? Why?"

"I wish to look around, and you can't prevent me from doing so."

She shot him a cold glare. "If you must, though I repeat: you are wasting your time." She stuck her nose in the air and stiffly walked away.

"Lord" Malfoy followed closely on her heels.

**.XX.**

If the girl had been born a pure-blood, Draco would probably have appreciated her talking back to him and giving him a difficult time. It would certainly have been a nice change up from the spineless men who always licked his boots and from the women who threw themselves at him without shame (then again, he liked to be feared and lusted after, so he guessed he got exactly what he deserved from society: fawning women and cringing men).

But she was _not _a pure-blood, and that was the sticking point.

**.XX.**

Hermione tried to ignore the man walking behind her and quickly made her way to her flat, which was situated on the far end of Diagon Alley.

Her home was a "charming" closet-sized room inside an old building that creaked and groaned with age. It was truly a tiny space, but she felt lucky to have it and to not have to beg on the streets, like many Muggle-borns did. As they entered the flat, "Lord" Malfoy shot her a superior glance and muttered something about his house-elves having more space back at his Manor. Hermione ignored him.

The flat was composed of a small sitting room, in which was place a forlorn sofa and a small side table. A built-in bookshelf was filled to bursting against one wall, and photos (all gifts from friends) lined another wall. A pocket-sized bathroom was next to the bedroom, where the only piece of furniture in the room—her bed—took up all the space, touching all four corners. Finally, a cupboard opened into a miniature kitchen, with a built-in stove, an icebox, and a small sink inside. Her small pile of clothes and two raggedy wash towels were folded neatly on one of the cupboard storage shelves, next to a few cans of beans and a half-bottle of ketchup.

It wasn't as grand as a manor house by any means, but everything in it was _hers_ and honestly earned, and Hermione was proud of that fact.

**.XX.**

As the two of them stood in the sitting-dining-_everything_ room, Draco noticed that there was barely space for one, much less two.

He suddenly wondered if Granger had ever had any love interests over. If so, where would she entertain them? Where would they _fuck_? The bed looked only big enough for a child to lay within, and the sofa... well, the sofa, he supposed, would do in a pinch.

It was a pathetic hovel, but more than any Mudblood deserved.

**.XX.**

Granger ignored the way Malfoy looked around at her home with disdain. She hung her cloak to the back of her front door, but didn't offer to take his cloak, as a good host might. Instead, she went to put the kettle on the stove, rubbing her hands to bring back some warmth to her fingers.

"Do you live alone?" her 'guest' inquired. He seemed annoyed with her again for some reason.

Probably just angry she had an actual roof over her 'Mudblood' head.

"Obviously not," she sarcastically replied as she rummaged through a random cupboard above the tiny sink in her so-called kitchen. "It's too spacious for just one person to occupy in such a highly-fashionable part of town. We're twenty or so in here, come and go at all hours."

She didn't see him move; his hand was suddenly clamped down on her wrist and then he was pulling her around to face him, and hostile words were spewing from his mouth. "Listen up, Mudblood, I don't give a shit that you're protected by Potter and his sidekick, you hear me? If anything, that only wants to make me hunt you to ground and bury you deep, just to see how it hurts them. So, from now on, you will play nice with me and answer my questions truthfully. This is an official criminal investigation, and you don't want to be any more out of line."

At first, she glared at him for having touched her in such a rough manner, but as the look in his stormy grey eyes grew harder, more hateful, she diverted her gaze. He was beautiful in his savage anger, like Lucifer himself – so evil, so... un-human. She shivered at the thought, and replied softly, "No. I live alone."

"Better," he sneered, shoving her wrist away as if it were a thing of filth. "Do people visit you here?"

"Yes."

"Yes, _what_?" he demanded.

Curling her fingers into fists at her side, Hermione curbed her tongue and answered in a soft, slightly wavering voice, "Yes, _Milord_."

"Very good," he praised, mockingly. "We'll make an obedient slave out of you yet."

Furious at such condescension, her head snapped up and she lost all pretense of meekness. Openly snarling at him, she said, "All tyrants meet their end one day, _Milord_." This time she referred to his title with contempt.

His backhand landed squarely on her cheek with enough force to drop her to her knees. Hermione let out a wounded yelp, cradling the side of her face.

Above her, Malfoy smirked and fisted some of her hair, pulling until she was forced to look at him again. "Now what do I do with you, Granger?" he mused aloud. "Do I take you back to the Ministry for disrespecting a Pure?"

She almost whimpered in fear at the threat. Almost.

"People have died for showing me less respect than that, you know. Is that it? Do you have a death wish, Mudblood?"

He bent and applied pressure to her head, forcing her down on all fours in front of him. "This is how all Mudbloods should live: doggy-style, with a collar around their throat, a leash to guide them, and a good whip to keep them in line. What do you think, Mudblood? Give it a try?"

She took a deep breath to calm her fear and swallow her pride. Malfoy was clearly mad, and he had it out for her. If she didn't want to end up in prison or worse, she had to bend. This time.

"I...I beg your pardon, Milord. It was not my place to say such a thing."

"Good, Mudblood," he calmly answered, despite the loathing in his voice. "See, you can be taught to behave."

He stood and started looking around again as she quietly made her feet and returned to her tea. All of her limbs trembled.

"So, Mudblood, who visits you here?" he casually asked.

"Harry Potter," she answered. "The Weasleys. Madam Malkin, sometimes. The Aurors come often, to see that I'm straight."

He didn't reply, instead gazing at the photos on her wall.

**.XX.**

From the pictures, two things were clear: one, that Granger's friends had given her these expensive gifts (as there was no way she could have paid for wizarding photos and frames, given her small salary), and two that Granger was well-loved by those same friends.

The first picture was of her, younger, sitting under a tree on lush green grass, reading a book while sucking absently on the end of a quill. Sometimes, the quill dropped to jot something in the margins of the book. She would often push her hair behind her ears, he noticed.

A second image was of Hermione again, this time standing between Weasley and Potter, both of whom had an arm flung around her shoulders in camaraderie. They were all three laughing, tears of mirth sparkling in their eyes. Lip curling, Draco recognized the Burrow—the Weasley's pathetic home—in the background (honestly, Draco wouldn't even have his elves live in such a low-rent place).

A third photo showed Granger with two girls. One was a beautiful, fiery woman Draco recognized as Ginny Weasley – the future Mrs. Potter. The other was a blonde with a dreamy look upon her face. The latter pointed to something in the air under her friend's dubious stares. The three were playing Exploding Snap, sitting on a rug in a circle.

Several other photos were similar: Hermione Granger with her friends (including one with that Longbottom fool), staged in various locales. There were two photos, however, that were curiously still, containing people and locations completely unfamiliar to him.

The first featured a tall, man with salt-and-pepper-hair. He was wearing a Muggle suit, standing behind a lovely, curly-haired woman in her early forties who sat in an armchair, wearing an elegant blue dress. On the arm of the chair was a recognizable, ten-year-old version of Hermione Granger. The girl was wearing a Muggle school uniform, her unruly curls up in a bun. She had an unfortunate buck-toothed smile, and her eyes were wrinkled in happiness.

The man and woman in the photo had to be her parents, Draco guessed.

Something foreign and uncomfortable stirred in his gut at the thought.

By law, Mudbloods were taken from their families when they reached the age eleven, so wizarding officials could keep an eye on them and contain their power, if necessary. To ensure there was no chance of them ever seeing each other again, as well as to stop the parents from giving birth again to such unnatural spawn, the families were killed. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, the smart-looking man and the pretty lady in the picture, had been wiped out long ago.

Draco's throat suddenly felt thick with an odd emotion that choked him up, and forced him to swallow several times to clear it.

He had absolutely no qualms about destroying abominations such as Mudbloods...

Still, he had never seen the parents of such people before, and strangely, he felt a little ill looking at them now, smiling gently at him, knowing they'd been murdered.

_Cleansed, not murdered, _he reminded himself. 'Murder' only happened to those with a right to life and liberty.

The final photo in the set was of Hermione again. This time, she was holding a tiny, sleeping baby in her arms with a look of affection, and a small touch of envy upon her face.

Draco's stomach suddenly took a nose-dive into his lower gut.

Granger would never know the joys of true motherhood. This was as close as she'd ever get, and she knew it, because Mudbloods were forbidden by the law to have children. The only known case in history of a pure-blood and a Mudblood having a child together was that of James Potter and Lily Evans.

"Any men in your life, Granger?" he asked, glaring at the photo, wondering who the baby belonged to. Was it secretly a love-child of hers, or the baby of a friend?

From his peripheral vision, he saw her spine straighten. "No."

He could practically smell the lie. "Be careful about lying to me, Granger," he warned.

She hesitated and sipped her tea. "I have had...a wedding proposal, to which I have not agreed yet."

"Really?" His curiosity was piqued. Who would want to estrange himself to marry a filthy little Mudblood, as pretty as she may be? "Who would want to marry you?"

"Ronald Weasley," she replied, her tone bordering on insolence again in its clear irritation.

Her reply provoked him.

"I see."

**.XX.**

Malfoy gazed at her for a long while in silence, but his face was carefully neutral. A poker-face, she'd heard it called. He was good at it, and she wondered what he was thinking just then.

Eventually, he tired of the game and turned on his heel, heading for the door. "I'll be back," he growled before slamming the door behind him.

Hermione let her breath out slowly, and looked up to see what it was that had captured Malfoy's attention for so long, before he'd moved on to the image of her holding little Victoire.

It was the picture of her parents that had caught his notice.

Her emotional dam finally burst, erupting into tears.

**.XX.**

**A/N: Please read and review. Have a very nice new year 2015, full of good ole dramione love.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Have a nice read.**

**.XX.**

"Please consider it, Hermione," Ron whined. "You'll be protected from everything!"

"Don't be silly, Ron," she snapped, measuring his inseam for his trouser fitting. "Malfoy's got it out for me, and if ever he decides to frame me for Greengrass' murder, you'd fall with me."

"As if I care."

"Well, I do."

There was a long silence. Only Madam Malkin's humming somewhere in the background could be heard in the shop.

"Listen, Ron–"

The bell above the shop door sounded suddenly, indicating a customer had walked in, and Hermione inwardly sighed in relief. As she was not permitted to appear in front of Madam Malkin's clientele, that was her cue to leave and hide out in the back. She shot Ron a meaningful glance, which he understood, and slipped into the small room where she had first met Malfoy.

The cold voice of Daphne Greengrass' young sister, Astoria – the future Mrs. Malfoy, was difficult to block out. The woman was always so shrill and loud. "Weasley," she greeted Ron, her tone as frigid as her heart.

"Miss Greengrass," Ron replied, curt and dismissive. "Pleasant day."

There was an awkward silence of a second or two, before the nasty woman replied, "Indeed. Now, out of my way, beggar. I must see Madam Malkin."

Before Ron could retort, the shop's owner hurried to greet her new customer. "Many apologies for my tardiness, Miss Greengrass. How may I help you?"

"I wish to know exactly what happened to my sister, woman. She was murdered here!"

"I understand, Miss Greengrass," Madam Malkin nervously replied, "but I'm afraid that I'm only permitted to give the Aurors any information as to the situation. As it is, Lord Draco Malfoy has already interrogated myself and my apprentice, and I am convinced that he has things well in hand."

Hermione almost snorted at that.

"I care not about the status of the investigation," snapped Astoria. "I've come here myself to discern the truth! Therefore, I command you to tell me all you know right this minute, you simple-minded half-blood!"

"I cannot, I'm afraid. Lord Malfoy–"

"Is not here. I am," Astoria reminded the woman. "Now, you spoke of an apprentice. Who might that be, Madam? Tell me this instant!"

"Hermione Granger, my apprentice. She has nothing to do with–"

"Blood status?"

"–nothing to do with your sister's–"

"I asked the girl's blood status," Astoria repeated in a lethal voice.

Madam Malkin was instantly reduced to silence for a moment, before she replied, "Muggle-born." She sounded terrified. "Miss–"

"A Mudblood," Astoria growled, triumphant.

Ron coughed, and started to mutter something, before Astoria interrupted him.

"Where is this Mudblood, Malkin?"

There was another silence. Hermione could imagine the scene: Ron in the background, hovering worriedly as Madam Malkin cowered under Astoria's gaze before pointing to the door where Hermione had gone to hide out.

The sharp rap of a pair of high heels was heard crossing the floor briskly, and they were heading for Hermione's safe room. A moment later, the door flew open and there stood the formidable Astoria Greengrass.

As Hermione rarely had the opportunity to view customers, she had never before seen Astoria. She'd seen her sister, Daphne, however – a short, pretty blonde with peachy skin and a healthy, pastel glow. Astoria was the complete opposite: tall, with snow white complexion, and a cascade of jet black hair falling down her back in beautifully styled waves. She had ruby red, perfectly smooth lips, emerald green eyes, and a body that must make her the favourite _de ces messieurs_. Despite generations of inbreeding, Astoria Greengrass was the very example of pure-blood perfection, just like her fiance. They were a very well-matched couple.

"Mudblood," Astoria set upon her, "did you kill my sister?"

"No, Miss," Hermione replied, ignoring the woman's wand now threateningly pointed at her. She was sick of people accusing her of Daphne's murder.

"No one will care if you die," Astoria reminded her with a cat-like smile, "Nor will they miss you when you're gone, and that will help soothe my temper. _Avada_–"

Madam Malkin yelped in the background as Hermione's eyes widened in real terror. Already, a green light was gathering at the end of Astoria's wand.

It was Ron–sweet, fabulous Ron–who saved her life... at a price that was immeasurable. "No!" he bellowed, so loudly that Astoria's head snapped sideways and back as far as her thin neck would stretch so she could glance behind her at the interruption. The green light vanished from her wand as she was distracted.

Ron stalked over, not caring one bit that his shoulder clipped Astoria's as he moved past her, and he flung a solid arm around Hermione's waist. "If you kill a Muggle-born no one will voice a concern, sure," he explained, glancing once down at Hermione in silent apology. He set his shoulders then as he faced off with Astoria. "But if you kill a pure-blood's fiancée, you will go to court and stand trial for her murder, regardless of who your betrothed is in MLE."

Astoria was taken aback. Her green, glimmering eyes opened so wide the whites showed on all sides. "Your..._fiancée_? Weasley, I knew you were an idiot, but honestly, you didn't drop so low on the ladder as to want to actually _mate_ a Mudblood?"

"She's mine," he snapped, head held high and chin up, "and I've never been so happy."

"Don't attempt to fool me, Weasley, you blood-traitor," Astoria hissed. "You haven't even thrown an engagement party!"

"We were planning the announcement for after the New Year, right, love?" He turned to her, his facial expressions silently willing her to play along.

On uncertain ground, Hermione simply nodded, rolling with the punches.

"We just became affiancéd this morning," he added to their whale's tale.

Astoria's lips pursed into a tight line as she stared at the two of them. "No matter, you're still going to be hated," she taunted Hermione, "and I'll be following you closely."

That tune was becoming old, Hermione thought, but kept her mouth closed.

"And you, Weasley!" Astoria scorned him. "You will be laughing stock!"

Ron sneered, refusing to be cowed. "Good-bye and good riddance, Greengrass," he stated.

Astoria's mouth fell open in shock, and Madam Malkin used the awkward pause to interfer. Shyly approaching Astoria, she murmured, "Miss, please, would you mind–"

"Get away from me, you simpering fool!" Astoria snapped. "My sister was murdered here! You'll all pay for that! Your shop shall close, and your Mudblood shall die for what happened!"

The door snapped shut behind her whirling skirts, and Madam Malkin pursed her lips, before turning to Hermione and Ron. She cracked a smile, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, I do believe congratulations are in order. Hermione, dear, I'll let you have the day off to go fetch your engagement ring. Good luck!"

**.XX.**

"Draco!"

Astoria's screeching whine upset the very air.

Draco tensed, thoroughly wishing he'd stayed all day at the Ministry to work. His home office at the Manor was usually far calmer than the one at the Ministry, but today would prove an exception, it seemed.

His witch stormed into his space, lips tight in anger and gaze thunderous. Draco wondered what had managed to get his lovely fiancée's knickers in a twist again, and slowly set down the file he was reading.

"Yes, darling?"

"I went to Madam Malkin's," Astoria yapped, "and the old, half-blood fool didn't want to disclose any information about my sister's death!"

"Which is completely expected of her," he interrupted in a tired voice.

"It's _my_ sister!" she complained, stomping her tiny foot. "How dare she! And worse: not content to block me at every turn, when I wished to punish her filthy Mudblood slave–"

Draco's head snapped up at that bit, but Astoria didn't notice his sudden irritation as she continued to rant.

"–she interfered, the idiot! Even more humiliating, the youngest male Weasley was in the shop and he stepped in, too! It seems he and the Mudblood are together."

"They aren't!" Draco growled, slowly standing and moving from behind his desk. "I interrogated the Mudblood, and she and Weasley aren't involved in that manner!"

"Well, they claimed to have just today become engaged, and you know that in our world, Draco, that provides her protection," she snarled. "True, the Mudblood didn't wear a ring, but... er, Draco, where do you think you're going?"

Draco ignored his betrothed and strolled for his office door, determined to get to the bottom of Astoria's claim. Donning his black cloak, he tossed an excuse over his shoulder as he hurried out, "I'll be back for dinner, darling. I must check on something."

...

**What did you think of it? Please leave a review.**

**See you soon, **

**DIL.**


End file.
